ATF Snapshots
by Quacked Lurker
Summary: ATF! Life doesn't always go the way we plan. Chapter 12. HI HO! Chapter 13: A new home. Chapter 14: Talk in a Hospital between friends. Ch 15 - A coffee based 'prank' Ch:16 friendly get-together. Ch 17: Dinner
1. Quick Fix

_**QUICK FIX: **ATF! Life doesn't always go the way we plan. Nor does it allow us to dictate where we shop. All we can do is choose. Warning: reactions may vary._

**DISCLAIMER: Quacked Lurker owns none of the realties, worlds, stores or characters mentioned in this fic.** **ENJOY!**

Standish balked when he saw the store.

JD Dunne sighed and turned. "Aren't you coming in?"

"I will not be seen in that so-called store!"

JD looked behind him. "We're not getting clothing. I just need to pick up some household supplies."

Ezra shuddered. "Cheap does not mean better! I refuse to set one foot in the building."

"What's wrong with Walmart?"

Green eyes blazed. "Nothing is 'wrong' with Walmart, per say. It has more to do with the fact this particular branch portrays itself as a superstore, and guaranteed low prices. Nothing was said of quality!"

The twenty-three year old man shook his head, letting his black hair dangle in his eyes momentarily. "Shopping here means we only need to stop once, instead of three or four stores, and should get done quickly. Where do you suggest, since Walmart is unacceptable to your standards?"

Mr. Standish pretended to think about it. "Hmm," he mussed. "None of the team is a Costco member, and since we're not looking to buy in bulk, let us avoid that particular members-only-chain." The slightly older man refused to slump. "Time-wise, you are correct that Walmart is our best option at this time, and if we weren't in a hurry to replace the mismanaged items, but Best-Buy would have the quality I desire."

JD's smirk was not quite hidden in his hazel eyes. "We could always go to Radio Shack for the wires and electronics."

Exra's face filled with horror. He marched towards the entrance of the store, pushing past his companion. "Let's get this over with before the rest of the team finds us missing."

JD chuckled. "You mean, before Chris walks into his ranch and sees the state of the television." Mentally, the young man added '_and finds the first-aid kits in the bathroom depleted, cause the 'expired' medical supplies were tossed.'_

"I said no such thing."

"Sure you did."

Laughing, the two men, short in statue, but not in presence, quickly made their way inside, not quite prepared for the first-weekend crowd packing the store.

_***Stares* Over two hundred people visited my story, (awesome that so many took a peak), but ONLY ONE REVIEWED? *is sad***_**Please tell me what you like/hate, and what I could improve upon****. Thank you so much for reading.**


	2. Reflection

_Quacked Lurker is NOT affiliated with The Magnificent Seven! No stock is owned by me, nor do I work for the producers._

_**REFLECTION**_

Denver Colorado has several ATF teams, but none as exemplary as the ATF nicknamed 'Magnificent Seven' by their fellow teams. JD Dunne, the youngest of the high-profile group, but not the youngest ATF teammate in the building, knew he was both needed and welcomed by his friends.

Times like now, though, JD felt that his youth was holding him back. He was still being carded at bars, for heaven's sake! Just because he looked to be fresh out of High School did not mean he was inexperienced in the ugly side of the world. It appeared that his coworkers were judging him on appearance alone, despite the fact that he had helped take down three CrimeBosses selling black-market firearms to local gangs. True, the names and identities of those involved in the survailence and arrest were kept under tight wraps, but at the speed of gossip, someone at the ATF building outside of the M7 team should have put two and two together.

JD stood at the window, staring down eleven stories towards the traffic below. His team was absent, and if District Attorney Orrin Travis knew where they were, he was keeping mum. Teams Six and Eight, normally on speaking terms with Chris Larabee's group (considering they shared a conference room and were each other's back up on several occasions), were staying away from the youngster.

No phone calls, no emails, no texts, no letters (snail mail could take days to arrive), and no messages.

Where was his team? Nathan Jackson took care of them, and Vin Tanner somehow always knew who need a mental-pick-me-up. Same with Josiah Sanchez and Ezra Standish. Buck Wilmington fussed more than what was proper for an adoptive big brother, and Chris Larabee always knew when something was bugging a member of his not-quite-blood family. So why had none of them tried contacting him?

JD Dunne, leaned his head against the window, allowing the black hair to fall into his eyes. It was long enough to cut, perhaps past time to shorten the length, but what was the point, if everybody he looked up to had gone, leaving him alone. Alone, as he'd been when his cancer-ridden mother had finally passed away, after six years of struggling with the chemotherapy, radiation treatments, and surgeries, in an effort to keep her body alive, one more day. The last eighteen months of High School had been some of the worst times of his life, not having anyone to talk to, no one who was willing to listen or offer advice. The only thing that kept him going was his dream of changing lives for the better.

Hazel eyes closed, ignoring the horde of unread emails on his computer. What was the point of going through the motions?

JD pealed his face off the window and looked at the digital clock hanging above the doorway. Three fifteen P.M. He'd been alone for over seven hours. Not one word from the six other men he considered more than friends. He'd thought about calling the hospitals, but what was the use?

Judge Orrin Travis poked his wrinkled-and-well-aged face into Team 7's room. "Mr. Dunne, are you still here?"

JD blinked his eyes, focusing on the aging man. "What's the word?" He stayed where he was, not wanting to get his hopes up.

"Inez Recillos called. Said Casey Wells just arrived at The Saloon, needs to see a familiar, friendly face." A smile that didn't quite reach the DA's eyes, appeared briefly. "I'm authorizing you to leave early today. Come talk with me tomorrow."

JD nodded. "Sure thing, Judge Travis." SIghing again, he looked at the stack of untouched paperwork, and shut down his computer before picking up his things and leaving. How did he forget about Casey? The first girl he liked, and managed to talk to without stuttering? True, she only knew the team through him, but perhaps she could figure out what to do if the Seven remained unreachable.

The drive to The Saloon was uneventful. Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as JD remembered as he pulled into the parking lot on his motorcycle. His black-helmet was held under his arm, as he entered the restaurant. Only after he stepped completly inside did the apperance strike him as odd.

Before JD could turn around and peer at the parking-lot, the dim lights blared to life. "SURPRISE!" shouted everyone hidden in the gloom.

His mouth dropped. The now-lit walls were covered with colorful, glittery banners, that spelled out, "Happy Birthday!"

Before JD could recover his bearings, Buck bounded into the entrance and slapped the youngster on the back. "Come on kid, enjoy the party." Cheerfully, almost obnoxiously, Buck dragged JD into the center of the building where a blushing Casey was trying to hide her face with a borrowed menu. "Sorry" the Brunette gal whispered, when the two made eye contact.

There were over twenty people all trying to give their 'well-wishes' to the young man. Some had cards, others did not. There was a huge pile of presents arranged along one wall.

JD shook his head, all the worries forgotten. His anxiety had disappeared too. "I never told anybody when I was born, and I certainly don't need a birthday party!" He tried to escape the center of attention.

The manager of The Saloon, Inez emerged from behind the small crowd. "You might not need a party, but none of us could agree on any one way of acknowledging how important you are to us, so we went with an extravigant party. Anything you order is on the house." She waved a finger at Buck. "He, however, must pay for every drop he drinks."

JD grinned. "Thanks Inez." He looked at Ezra, Chris, Nathan, Josiah, and Vin. "I'm glad nothing happened to you."

Chris took off his cowboy hat and dropped it on JD's head. "We'd get word to you, somehow. You're part of this family. Never forget it."

_Labor Day Weekend  
>September 4th 2011 <em>


	3. Memory of past, loved or forgotten

**I don't own The Magnificent 7. Don't sue, I just needed to get somethings off my chest.**

**In Remembrance:**

The Ranch was a joyful location most times. It was here, in the countryside, the ATF agents came to recuperate, to relax, and to enjoy life. Away from the city, where the busy hustle and bustle kept on intruding on every aspect of 'ill' or those not up to par, the countryside was a lot more easy-going, and not so demanding on those trying to 'return' to 'normal'. Nerves and emotions loosened under the almost-carefree lifestyle that settled upon those who came for a short time.

True, the homesteads had their own demands and needs, but it was different enough from what the city life expected that the change of pace allowed the men and visitors to be soothed faster than if they had remained in their own homes in the city.

Dinner had been served, and for the time being, none of the men were hungry for dessert. The dishes were rinsed, washed, dried and put back in the cabinets, the leftover food (what little remained after the enormous appetites of the men were satisfied) was stored in the refrigerator, and the trash was taken out. Appearance wise, the kitchen, dinning room, and the rest of the home were clean and ready for company – more visitors than those who had already arrived with the blessings of the ranch owner. It was almost as if the friends of the man who lived here had already left and the cleaning crew had come through, but they hadn't. Those friends were familiar enough with the requirements of a 'spotless' living station, and had been over enough times that they all were comfortable enough helping out when needed.

Besides, for them, helping the owner out during these festive occasions (or just earning their keep) was part of the unspoken request. None of the ATF agents could sit around doing nothing while the others were working – not even when they were suffering from broken bones, or punctured lungs, or just-out-of-the-hospital thanks to blood-loss or other ailments that were unfortunate side effects of their job and official duties. Helping to keep the ranch clean and presentable also meant that minds in turmoil could calm down, without the more mischievous men setting up pranks or plotting on how to 'get' back at the associates and coworkers sound and secure in their offices, while the injured men were on medical leave. After all, those inactive hands meant a bored man, which was perhaps one of the worst things to be while injured with something more serious than a paper-cut.

It was all part of life, here at the Ranch. Good food, good company, and a solid roof over the head (no rodents, bugs, or other pests interrupting the deep sleep), in return for minor repairs and a fresh pair of hands helping out with the daily chores. Keeping the dust down and feeding the animals was a small price to pay – even though the horses required the men get up before the sun in order to feed them at a decent hour – all the men agreed, in return for untroubled recovery time.

All the visitors had some kind of drink in their hands – milk, coffee, soda, water, eggnog, tea (iced and hot), hot chocolate, punch, or other – and were enjoying the festivities available.

The old record player was currently off, but it had been playing some Elvis Presley songs earlier. Other records included "the Beatles" and famous/popular singers who died young. The television was muted, but on. The football game was over, and the announcers were replaying the highlights between the teams. There was no radio in this room, and the lights were not yet lit. Downstairs was a billiards table, but no one was interested in a game of pool. The cards were still in their packages, ready to be pulled out at a moments notice, but they too would be used later, after the pies had been cut and served.

In the midst of the happy activities, one man slipped away, trying to keep his absence unnoticed. It didn't work,

Three pairs of eyes watched the departing man. One of them pushed back his seat and looked through the window. "I hate it when personal demons attack."

"Sure this isn't just a desire to be alone?"

A black-haired man joined the other. He too examined the stance of the one outside. "Nope. Definitely a strong memory of some sort was triggered. Quite strong for the recall to cause him to leave suddenly."

A brown haired man still seated on the couch gave his own observation. "It has been my experience that a sudden and pressing need to absent oneself comes on the occasions of traumatic events."

One of the other others gave a half-hearted laugh. "Such as the anniversary of a terrorist attack."

"Precisely."

"Damn." The first man stepped away from the window. "He's found a whiskey bottle."

The black haired man looked startled. "I thought you ensured there was no straight alcohol on the premises."

"I did. It doesn't mean well-wishing colleagues refrained from bringing their own bottles and accidentally leaving them behind."

"Was Orrin Travis one of them?"

"He knows not to bring beer or wine to any social gathering. He allows the hired cooks and servers take care of the alcohol, and other drinks provided by the host." Not saying anything else, he stepped outside and joined the lone individual.

Left behind with the other four guests, the black-haired man breathed heavily. "Go check the medicine cabinet, the cellar, attic, beneath the bathroom counters, and kitchen cupboards. Might as well clear out the alcohol that wasn't drunk or thrown out ages ago."

The five men separated, each taking a different section of the house. When they finished their search, only three slightly dusty, unopened bottles where found. "Where did you find those?"

The brown-haired man holding two of the glasses shrugged. "Buried beneath the cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink."

They all watched as their friend approached the door and pointed to the bottles. He mimed drinking, and gestured towards the paper cups stacked near the ice-chests and punch. Then he turned around and walked onto the grass.

A strained hiss. "Oh, it's that kind of demon. Loss of beloved family or close friend." The man who hissed, thought for a moment or two before turning to the man who knew the grounds best. "Is there any grave-marker nearby?"

Unhappy shrug. "Yes, but it's on a neighbor's land. Chris rarely visits the location, and never talks about it."

"Could we all visit it, to say our own goodbyes?"

"Shouldn't have said anything. In fact, forget I mentioned it."

A furious whispered conversation between the five men inside the Ranch's living room.

Eventually, the man gave in. "Think so, but it's getting too dark to visit the tombstone. The path is treacherous enough in the day." When four pairs of curious eyes upon him, the black-haired man held out his hands in surrender. "It's unmarked and far enough off the road that no one should accidentally stumble upon it or deface it. The memorial headstone doesn't even have Sarah's or Adam's name carved into it."

A curious man asked, "Where did enough rock necessary to build a headstone come from? Or was a single large piece bought and transported here?"

"From a local quarry that produces most of the bigger pieces of the stone and rock sold in Denver and a large section of the countryside."

"There's a quarry nearby?"

"Lots of people here have loose rock all over. Not too many have more rock than meadow and forest. This guy saw a business opportunity and decided to sell the bigger stones as decorative landscape additions instead of his place."

The low conversation was cut off with a furious wave of hands. "Never mind. We can finish this later. Right now, our friend needs our support."

"Fine." The man nearest the porch door opened it, and gestured towards the wide open space revealed. "Who's out first?"

"What's out second?"

A third man glared at the two jokers. "I'm not saying I don't Know's out third."

Snickers. "You just did."

"I did? Ah crud. Why did we have to listen to Abbot and Costella earlier?"

Silently, a hefty man shoved the speaker out, then stepped behind one of the other reluctant men standing by the open door. The others took the hint and joined the two on the steps without another word.

The bottle was plucked from the first man's hand and before the startled man could shout, it was passed to the last one outside. He drank from the bottle and returned it, holding out three fresh bottles.

Back outside, the two men were alone for some time. The newcomer eventually broke the silence. "Personal demons can strike at any time. Want to talk about it?"

"No, not really."

The newcomer nodded once. He sat down next to the other man. "You aren't alone."

Snort. "Can you get any more cliché by adding 'We're all here for you'?"

The taller man shrugged. "Doesn't make it any less true." He fell silent again, letting the younger individual decide if he wanted to talk or keep his emotions bottled up.

Eventually, the first man stopped staring at the stars and looked at his friend. "I didn't think that remembering how my sister died would hurt so much. I mean, I know she's dead, and that she's been buried for years, but recalling how she died I didn't want to know. Kind of hard not to, when I was the one who found her floating face down in the water, cold and clammy to the touch."

"I'll be back." The friend stood up, allowing joints stiffened by the cold air to loosen before walking up the steps towards the living room, and the party inside. A boisterous party that had been silent for many minutes. The man sitting on the steps didn't pay any attention to the approaching footsteps, too intent on finishing up the bottle in his grasp.

He gasped when the whiskey was stolen from his hand. Turning furiously towards the thief, he found the shout dying in his throat. The other members where all standing behind him, their expressions sorrow yet understanding. Not one showed any pity. Some of the faces had loss, yet it was combined with joy, which seemed weird.

His eyes saw the three other bottles, and only reflex had him holding onto the returned whiskey. "I thought only fairy-tales had people gathering together in times of deep need" he whispered, shocked.

He wasn't drunk, yet the alcohol in his system was already loosening his tight control. Tears gathered in his eyes.

One by one, the men sat down. Some chose the grass, others joined the two on the steps. There were chairs on the porch, but strangely, they were left empty. One by one, the men spoke, speaking of things no one outside their immediate family knew—and sometimes, the secret was known only by one person.

"My mother experienced a spontaneous abortion when I was four years old."

"A miscarriage." Said another when he noticed some blank faces. "Spontaneous abortions are 'natural' and are 'a part of life.' They've happened throughout history, long before the Supreme Court heard the Roe Versus Wade case back in the late seventies."

"Dad talked once about the stillborn baby his first wife delivered before I came along. Neither of them took it well, especially when they learned she couldn't have another child."

"Lost my mother to cancer, but you all know that. What she never told anyone was that it was her second bout with breast cancer. Four years clean, caught in the first stage, and it came back with a vengeance.

"The reason my father is unlisted on my birth certificate, is because my mom was raped, and she chose not to go through with an abortion."

"A gang war took my twin's life. Hated guns, blamed God, and couldn't understand why him, why not me? We were both heavily involved, and neither of us were innocent (having deliberately shed the blood of others), yet I survived, when he didn't."

"Don't know much about my birth family, but I do know that some of the folks who fostered kids like me lost everything. One went bankrupt after the state pulled out the kids, another had been bankrupt before, and decided, once he got his life turned around, he'd do his best to help others. Succeeded in being an inspiration to many of us 'before a bank-robbery gone wrong cost him his legs. After that, the state said 'a disabled man can't properly care for those who need help themselves'." A heavy snort. "Took his life shortly afterwards. Never did get to say good-bye or thank you."

"Mom had to prostitute herself to keep us both fed and clothed. Didn't understand what was happening when I was younger, but she always told me, that 'life will get better' and 'our past is our past. It doesn't have to be our future.' Still believe what she told me over and over, even though one of her 'john's killed her out of anger and hatred." He drank the last several mouthfuls of liquor left in the bottle. "Women got a choice, and they should always be respected. Mom taught me that 'No' means 'No' and her opinions meant something.

"My wife and son died in an car bomb. Tried to forget the pain by drinking to oblivion. Ended up loosing memories of her and our son."

The voices revealing private pains each thought no one else knew about or understood. Knowing about how death affects people is different than actually experiencing death and loss itself. The true-stories about their pasts blurred into one semi-cohesive unit. The first man couldn't recall when he spoke up, airing his own personal demon to the world, but when he fell silent, somehow, a burden he never knew he carried had been lifted. Hearing some of the deepest, darkest secrets of the men he'd come to know as family, was an eye-opener. Or it could have been the alcohol slowly seeping into his system that loosened everyone's tongues. Whatever the reason, he felt better now that someone really knew what had happened to him, and that he wasn't alone in his suffering.

One of the men noticed a shooting star. "Hey, look at that!"

The others looked up. "Pretty"

"It is."

Other falling stars lit up the sky. The harvest moon, though bright, did not distract from the natural light show higher up.

* * *

><p>"Kind of like our lives, and those taken before their time."<p>

"How so?"

"Short lived, bright in the sky, an extraordinary fate, an incredible existence."

Annoyed, one individual snarled. "Can't you just experience things without trying to analyze them or relating them to life?"

"I suppose so."

"Then do it!"

"Okay, I see the appeal to vaporizing rock and ice. . . . Yes, it is pretty."

**Thanks for reading.**


	4. What's so funny?

**NO OWNERSHIP! Just for kicks! Enjoy this snapshot.**

Denver Colorado's best _Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms_ team was enjoying their rare weekend off. Work had a bad habit of interfering with the planned vacation opportunities, so the seven men were making the most of this occasion.

Saturday afternoon was spent at the Ranch, and the unlikely family - really, friends closer than brothers - were talking about upcoming assignments, and what it would take to pull off the latest stinger operation.

Chris Larabee, Buck Wilmington, Josiah Sanchez, and Nathan Jackson were trying to 'help' Ezra Standish dress appropriately for his next incarnation as a desperate illegal gun-buying criminal one step away from the law. Vin Tanner and JD Dunne were watching the proceedings with wide grins.

Adopting an attitude of frustration, Ezra stormed back into the living room, wearing name-brand clothing rip-offs. "Happy?" he snarled, secretly pleased at the lengths his friends would go to to make sure nothing of his dress would give away the possibility of an undercover cop.

"Mr. Standish, where did you pick up your shoes?"

Affronted by the question, the ATF agent huffed. "Brown's Fitted Shoes."

Chris frowned. "The shoes don't match your mass-produced clothing."

"I assure you, Mr. Larabee, my attire is entirely appropriate for a low-life scum trying to make a fortune off of others misery." Already in character, he continued haughtily. "I happen to put strong emphasis on proper foot-ware and refuse to replace my wardrobe every three to six months. Unlike most people I know."

JD interrupted the conversation. As much fun as it was winding up their boss, surviving the tempest that followed as never easy - especially when the individual who stirred up the simmering volcano was absent ~ legitimately.

"Come on Ez, if Chris thinks the shoes stand out too much we can pick up a new pair from Payless Shoes - and When the sting is over, donating them to Salvation Army will ensure you never have to see them again."

Standish mulled over the suggestion for a long moment. Buck, Josiah, and Nathan held their breath.

JD's head tilted. "I could always take you to Target or K-Mart for sufficiently 'poor' class shoes"

Ezra shook his head. "That will not be necessary, Mr Dunne. Payless is acceptable."

Buck whistled. Josiah wondered aloud, "How do you do it?" Chris just shook his head, while Nathan remarked, "I am still astounded at you JD."

Vin Tanner smirked from his position in the Brown Lazy-Boy Recliner. "It's cause JD and Ex see eye-to-eye."

Exra glared at Vin, murder in his green eyes. "You did not just call me short."

"S'ore did."

Vibrating with anger, JD hissed, "compared to Buck all of us are short."

Ezra dropped the act. "A height difference of one point two five centimeters does not mean we see eye-to-eye."

"Na'. You're just jealous 'cause I'm taller than the both of you."

(Posted October 2011, written September 2011)


	5. Health Food

**Door slams shut. _Oh, company? Help yourselves to the books-they are there for more than dust collectors. _****Slips back out the front. ****_I haven't found any paperwork connecting me to The Magnificent Seven, so sorry, lawyers and bill collectors. Give me time to figure out what I do own outright, and you'll get your money._**

Nathan Jackson whistled as he exited the break room. It wasn't the contents of the break-room that put the medic in such a good mood, but the available food did help. No, it was the happy news that his wife Raine was now expecting their first child that put the satisfied grin on Nathan's face. However, until one or more individuals restocked the cabinets and refrigerator in the break room, everyone was going to be eating less junk food and more fresh fruits. Someone had replaced the stockpiles of chips, candy, doughnuts and most of the snacks with nuts and fall fruits. Nathan's eye read the labels and figured the pecans, pistachios, almonds and walnuts were an acceptable snack alternative, but the orange tomato-shaped hard fruits, citrus, squash, and the red ball-like item might be a bit messy in the conference room and work-stations.

Nathan walked down the hall to Team 7's doorway. He didn't see any members of team 6 or 8, but would no doubt be hearing from one or two of the more vocal members once they scanned the replacements in the cafeteria. As Nathan sat at his desk, he spied both Vin Tanner and JD Dunne at their desks; for all appearances, intent on filing the paperwork before lunch, but he knew as well as Chris Larabee and Judge Travis Orrin that appearances could be deceiving. Case in point, Ezra Standish, who was early for once.

Nathan glanced up at the analog clock hanging above the door as the ex-FBI agent wandered in, a bit cheerful for the time, considering the con artist wasn't a morning person. Seeing him in the office before 10 am was unusual, but not inconceivable, for Ezra managed to be as convenient for the marks as he had to be while giving the black-arms dealers enough rope to hang themselves and their accomplishes in any jury. The time was 7:30 in the morning, and Ezra was, atypically, one of the first ones.

A hard crunch caught Nathan's attention. He swiveled in his seat, trying to find the source of the odd notice and noticed Tanner munching on one of the unidentifiable orange fruits. Vin, absentmindedly chewing the flesh of the hard fruit, swallowed his mouthful and turned to face the others. "Want some? Ya' eat a Persimmon like an apple." He held out one of the other tomato-shaped fruits towards JD.

JD shook his head minutely. "Looks weird."

Ezra snorted. "Only an uncultured barbarian would refuse to try something new or different." He held himself aloft from the proceedings, but those who knew him well, could see that Ezra was amused at the sight of JD looking at an innocent piece of fruit like it was a deadly mushroom or other toxic ingredient. "Not every corner of the world has access to apples, pears, plums, and recognizable vegetables. Well, not those that the average, untraveled American could put a name to."

Nathan blinked, astonished at how revealing Ezra was being in his speech. He was positive, okay ninety-five percent sure, that it was Ezra who had replaced the processed, sugary products of the break room with healthier alternatives. Why, the medic wondered for a moment before snorting.

Meanwhile JD and Vin were talking about the fruit. Vin was encouraging the younger man to try a slice of the Persimmon, while the fast-food, and meat loving youngster was trying to avoid sticking anything weird in his mouth.

"It looks like a tomato."

"It ain't. A Persimmon is more like an apple, only without the seeds."

"I don't do orange foods."

"Not even pumpkins? What about the orange juice Doc insists we all drink when we're needing water or other fluids? Ya' eat carrots in the salad, and love Nettie's Carrot Cake."

JD visibly hesitated. "Orange foods I don't see in the supermarkets, I refuse to eat."

Ezra chimed in, a grin on his face. "The local Farmers Market offers persimmons, oranges, carrots, pumpkins, and more. Or are you referring to a poor man's grocery store, where the produce is ethanyne ripened, been sitting in cold storage for months, and possibly imported?"

JD glared at Ezra. "Not everyone can afford to eat solely USA grown food."

Ezra shook his head, the huge face-braking smile hidden again. "Use your god-given knowledge to read the labels on the items. American grown food is diversified and varied. The chain superstores sometimes ship in fruits from Brazil, Mexico, Peru and other countries because its cheap, freshly picked, and most consumers don't care where their food comes from. It does takes a bit of work to find markets that have fruits that aren't available in huge supermarkets, but the year-round fruit stands and other stores do offer the more traditional fruits too."

Vin and Nathan shared a glance. Ezra usually knew when people were intentionally pushing his buttons, and thus, was hard to rile up until or unless quality clothing came into the picture. Standish allowing himself to semi rant about other things was a rare occurrence. Usually, Ezra said his piece, and allowed the others to keep their ill-informed opinions without challenging their understanding of the facts. This, talking about food, was more in line with Nathan or Vin's vocal arguments: Nathan stressing healthy food rich in nutrients and vitamins or minerals, Vin desiring transportable. Sometimes, when Buck or JD were feeling hungry, they talked about rich steaks and barbequed back-ribs, or the availability of fast food, and the time factor involved. Josiah enjoyed growing vegetables in his garden plot at home, when he had the time to take care of the poor editable plants, for snails, slugs, and vermin liked lettuce, tomatoes and more too. Chris, well, the Team Leader rarely spoke of his food preferences changing opinions bimonthly or so.

Before Nathan and Vin could speak up, Chris Larabee strolled in, followed by a chastised Buck Wilmington, and Josiah Sanchez, who didn't look happy either. Chris, glared at the assembled team members, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut upon spying Ezra. He grunted, not quite appeased, but not willing to take out his bad mood on undeserving friends. He entered his office, slammed the door shut and stared at the computer, glaring it into submission.

Nathan looked from Buck to Josiah, hoping one of them knew what was bugging their leader. Buck shrugged. Josiah avoided looking up at anyone as he slid into his seat and booted up the computer. The oldest individual cleared his throat, feeling stares from five very curious individuals. "Internal Affairs showed up last night." He held out his hands, anticipating the shocks of denial and confusion, unsuccessfully, for someone did state 'I thought we didn't have to worry about IA.' "Internal Affairs reported to the Judge last night, as a courtesy call, to let him know that there is going to be a strong inquiry of certain individuals and teams. Naturally, this has everyone tightening up their acts and behaviors, but it also means we –"

Chris emerged from his office, a bit more calm and collected than when he had entered. "It means the paperwork and all reports are due _yesterday._ Any questions on the forms?" Silence was the answer. "Good." He turned to leave, presumably to recheck his files, when his keen eyes spied the small fruits decorating Vin's desk. "What are you eating?"

"Persimmon. Want one?"

"No thanks. When I want an apple, I'll buy an apple. Not a cross between an apple and a tomato."

Ezra shifted in his seat, preparing to pipe up, but Chris turned his glare to him, and the con man subsided.

Chris blinked. "I'm going to need some sugar."

Nathan and the others were treated to Ezra blanching, but they weren't brave enough to ask.

Shortly, the entire floor was treated to an almost weekly cry. "_WHAT HAPPENED to the snacks?_"

Ezra shifted in his seat, aware of four irritated individuals turning their ire towards him. "Perhaps it was a bad time to ensure that we all ate healthier for a change?"

Written and uploaded 22 November 2011


	6. Prompts, eye opening

**No, I am not Affiliated with any television shows. Wanted to try my hand at some drabbles. Magnificent 7, and the cast is not mine to own or direct.**

~ Cooking ~

Nettie Wells gratefully turned off the oven after pulling out the last pie. She was a good cook, enjoyed cooking, and smiled while watching the diners forgetting about the worries of the day as they sat back, eating the home-cooked meals.

The Grandmother of seven, leaned against the stove for a moment, praising God for the wonderful people he had put in her life. It was no bother fixing up a holiday meal, or preparing enough desserts to feed an army. Not to Mrs. Wells, anyway, who rarely let anyone depart from her home hungry.

Wishing she could whistle, Nettie carefully placed the twelve pies in the boxes and cheerfully ordered Vin Tanner to carry the rest of the food to her car.

~ Volunteering~

Vin Tanner, a young man, grinned as he helped Nettie Wells load up the vehicle. He'd been doing this for almost eleven years now, assisting Mrs. Wells in the kitchen, double-checking both the freshness of the ingredients, and the tastiness of the batter before wrapping up the food, then taking the meals to the local food pantry and homeless shelters. It wasn't much, for the crowd during the holiday season seemed to come out of the woodwork, but every one who came to the shelters almost always had something warm to eat when Nettie Wells took it upon herself to make a feast.

~ Empty~

Maude Standish surveyed the attending horde. These holiday-get together, consisting of the upper-crust and well-to-doers, never held her interest for long. Yes, there was gossip to be made, and acquaintances to meet, but it never satisfied her for long. Something was missing, but she couldn't figure out what.

She had lost real interest in these social gatherings a long time ago. Maude refused to remember the exact year she finally realized nothing truly enthralled her. It was easy to feign interest, and fake delight at being in the celebrities circle, but nowadays, nothing had a lasting importance. Perhaps her son, loath she was to think about his chosen profession, had figured it out.

~Clowning Around~

Ezra Standish's green eyes twinkled underneath the wide-brimmed floppy hat he had donned for the occasion. He smiled broadly and openly, not caring that his comrades might see him. Entertaining the kids helped relive the stress of life. It wasn't easy forgetting about the wounds and death seen on the job. But knowing that everytime he pulled into work, it was to prevent more injuries and senseless death, helped. Not as much as making the little ones laugh, or filling in for an old fiend who needed someone able to temporarily take his place while he went in for surgery.

~Beauty~

JD Dunne sneezed. When he finally caught his breath, he looked over at his friend who was giggling. "Not funny" he wheezed.

Casey Wells tried to hide her grin behind her hand. It wasn't easy. "I've never heard someone sneeze ten times in a row."

JD mock growled. "I'm allergic to the cat hair." He defended, trying to paint a different explanation for the watery eyes and slight sniffles gathering in his throat. No, he wasn't going to cry.

Casey accepted the excuse. It wasn't worth it to make him admit the truth: at least JD tired to be polite.

~Presents~

Buck Wilmington dogged the frying pan Inez threw at him. "I just wanted to wish you a 'Happy Birthday'." He shouted over the banging pots and pans as the owner of _The Saloon_ made her ire readily known. Buck had to drop to the floor to avoid the wet dishcloth flying at his face. "I'm sorry, mi cherie, I'll go buy some chocolates!"

Inez Recillos snarled. "Get out of my sight!" she roared, noticing that her hired help was cowering along the wall. "And for your information, my birthday was _LAST_ month!" when the charming coward finally escaped the death-trap she let go of the anger and gave into the laugh that had been building up ever since Mr. Wilmington came in, holding a vase of yellow roses.

The waitress dared to come closer and inspect the offering. "um, not to be rude, but did I get the dates mixed up?"

Inez shook her head. "I was just messing with Buck's head. His gifts aren't always appreciated, but they are well-thought out." She sniffed the nine flowers. "Besides, he hasn't yet learned that few women admit their age, and not everyone likes having an impromptu party."

"But you do."

"Sometimes."

~Beginnings~

Orin Travis shook his head. As much as he needed to protect his daughter, he was willing to admit that Chris Larabee was good for her. Neither Mary nor Chris had been the same since their respective spouses had died, and it was only now, nearly eight years later, that the two of them were finding solace again. Orin Travis would prefer the two to remain close friends, but even the old grandfather knew his grandson needed a father-figure. As long as Christ treated Mary right, and as long as Mary enjoyed the company, he would welcome the both into his home. Perhaps, someday soon, into his family as well.

~Jolly Old Saint Nick~

Josiah Sanchez shook his head. His bright blue eyes were almost commonplace, as was the salt-n-pepper beard, but not dressed in a Red-Robed Santa Clause Suit. Perhaps it was time to consider growing out a beard for the toddlers to tug on. Right now, if any of the rambunctious kids pulled too hard, the wig would come off. That wouldn't be as much a hassle, except most of the children waiting to tell Santa their Christmas Wish List expected Santa to have a full beard, and not be clean shaven. Still, there were a few individuals who squirmed away from the white hairs, but so did he. The fake beard itched!

~Helping~

Nathan Jackson, EMT, sat down and drank the hot chocolate. It wasn't coffee, but it was hot. Right now, he (and the other workers) needed the warm liquid more than anything else. It wasn't easy balancing two jobs, and he didn't, but some of the other EMT's around him did. His comrades were full-time parents, part-time volunteers, and always-on call for emergencies, especially during the holidays. Didn't matter if it was Christmas, New Years, Valentines, Labor Day, Forth of July, Veterans' Remembrance Day, Thanksgiving, Easter Break, or any other occasion where alcohol was drunk. Anytime there was a 'break' from the rut of work, there was an increase in the number of accidents, and the doctors, nurses, paramedics were quickly overrun. It wasn't easy helping them out, more ofthen than not, being there as someone died, but they did save lives. That is why Nathan and the other EMT's were out here, day after day, year after year.

(**Okay, not quite drabbles – too long most of them, but it was fun**.) 19 December 2011


	7. Friendships come in many shapes

**Magnificent 7 is not mine. Nor am I the one who thought to pull the team from the Old West to Modern Times. Having said that, I step back and thank those who have created a wonderful realm and incredible cast of characters for all of us to enjoy. Thank you all.**

JD Dunne winced as he pulled into the parking garage. Ezra's Jaguar was already parked. Shutting off his Indian Motorcycle, JD took off his helmet and jogged towards the elevator. Why did he have to be late, today of all days?

JD gave a thankful sigh when he noticed the elevator cab was present. Good, he didn't have to wait for the elevator to drop off its passenger and come back down. Perhaps he wouldn't be too late.

The young adult didn't have to wave, for the person who called the elevator had seen him pull up, and calmly placed his foot on the threshold, preventing the doors from closing. "Thanks, Ez." JD belatedly noticed the identity of the other passenger.

"Good morning, Mr. Dunne." Ezra Standish shook his head. "Is it too much to ask that you call me Ezra, instead of the diminutive form of my proper name?"

JD wanted to snort. "Ez is faster to say, and catchy."

"But not my preferred form of address."

JD blinked. "I'll try to remember that."

The two waited in silence while the lift seemed to creep up to level 11. When the door binged and slid on its hinges, Ezra nonchalantly hung back while JD quickly stepped out. "Pardon me for asking, but why did your arrival happen simultaneously with mine? It has been my observation that you typically arrive with Mr. Wilmington, and are among the first to report for duty."

JD shrugged, as he half-trotted towards his desk. A half-trot because running in the hallways was noisy, and he hadn't quite figured out how Ezra strolled at a pace that could be dawdling slow, or a deceptively moderate walking speed. "I don't mind you asking, Ezra. I was talking with Cassey last night, and never went to bed. It wasn't until Buck called me that I remembered we don't get today off."

Ezra paused near the open door that led to the room the Seven did their paperwork in. "Yes, it is a shame that are on call during select holidays. At times, it would be advantageous if the miscreants intent on breaking state laws and city regulations would postpone their activities for when it is more convenient for us."

Buck poked his head through the doorway, frowning when he saw the two members standing in the hallway. "Chris don't like it when people are late."

Ezra pointedly looked at the watch on his wrist and examined the timepiece. "I do not believe I am late, Mr. Wilmington. I still have forty-five seconds till half past nine."

JD bit back the laughter. Despite being late, it was fun to see others become perplexed at Ezra's carefully prescribed speech. "It isn't nine thirty, yet." He translated, half-jogging to his desk, hoping, but knowing Chris had noticed his earlier absence, and was probably on the lookout for Ezra Standish to stroll in.

Right on the dot of nine-thirty, Ezra walked in, calmly ignoring Buck invading his personal space and the amused glances of the others. He slid into his seat and swiveled in his chair. "Gentlemen?"

Nathan, Vin and Josiah returned their attention to their computers. It did not appear that the boss was going to lecture Standish about the proper time to arrive. Not today anyway.

Chris stepped out of the office and stood next to the youngest member of the team. "Anything wrong, JD?"

JD was careful in avoiding Chris's eyes. He wanted to put off talking to Chris, and mumble an 'I'm fine,' answer, but Ezra had tried to instill in all of them to turn their heads and look at the person when talking to them. Nathan had agreed with Ezra on this. Apparently, it was 'mindful' to do so, and proper society manners said that one's full attention should be on the other person while in conversation. "Forgot to set my alarm, that's all."

Chris nodded his head. "If you need the day off, you can ask."

"Thanks, Chris."

Chris turned to look at Ezra. "Don't think this excuses you, mister." Chris wandered back into his office and plopped down in his black chair to resume the paperwork that had grown in the four minutes he had been away from his desk.

Buck lazily settled in his chair, feet on the edge of his desk and leaned back, balancing on the two back legs. "Wonder why he's letting you off easy today?"

JD turned back to his computer and tried to ignore the conversation happening behind him. He just wanted to get his work done and go home. Maybe pick up the phone and call Cassey after dinner too. Not during lunch, or before dinner, since Buck would tease JD. Not that Buck didn't tease him currently, but it would be best to limit the ammunition the mustached man could fling at his younger friend.

31 December 2011  
>Happy New Years everyone, and a Belated Christmas!<p> 


	8. Dodge Sports

**I DO NOT OWN! THE CHARACTERS ALL BELONG TO OTHERS! **

JD Dunne rode his motorcycle through the streets of Denver. He had no particular destination in mind, and was randomly choosing directions. Right now, the freedom the motorcycle provided was the distraction the young man needed.

Working for the local Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms agency was invigoration, but at times, everything just seemed to drag on. Right now was one of those times, and when he had a free afternoon or day, the young man took it, needing to get out of the office, to feel the wind on his face (what wind that managed to whip under the full-faced hemlat that is), and the knowledge that he was in control of his life.

JD knew the others felt similar at times. It was one reason they all had hobbies outside of work. Some hobbies were common knowledge, others held 'secret' because they wanted an area that gave the illusion of being untouched by the outside world. Chris Larabee had the ranch, and everyone was welcome to it – even the Judge though, Orrin Travis tended not to barge in on Chris's off-duty time, which as the supervisor of all the teams, his very presence meant the ranch wasn't as relaxing or welcome as it could be at other times. Buck Wilmington's favorite stop after work was the Saloon, and soft-spoken Vin Tanner, liked the wilderness. Josiah Sanchez helped out at the church, Nathan Jackson and Ezra Standish … Well, the medic did have a wife, and the con artist hadn't survived being the top undercover agent as long as he had by being predictable or easy to figure out.

Whatever Ezra's way of unwinding was, he didn't see fit to share it with others. That was fine with JD, considering he had need to be completely alone on occasion. Besides, what the others didn't know, they couldn't tease the youngest man with.

JD Dunne saw, bud did not notice as he left the well-to-do neighborhoods and entered the slums of the city. He might have been seeking out the other 'side' of Denver, wondering what drove the average man towards purchasing black-market guns and other substances. Perhaps if JD knew the differences between his current life and the life of the destitution, he could understand them better. At the very least, he might figure out why Vin, Nate, Josiah, and various men from other teams, were focused on helping them.

A backfiring muffler finally caught JD's attention. To his ear, it sounded almost like a shotgun going off, but with a subtle difference. That distinction is the only thing keeping his reflexes from throwing him off the moving motorcycle and diving for the nearest cover. Which happened to be a rusted car frame that was missing nearly everything.

Pulling off to the side, JD slid to a stop and turned off the engine. The glass visor flipped up, allowing a slightly better view of the forward area. While the young computer technician's good vision meant he didn't need glasses, there were still details he missed. However, that jeep parked by a debilitated four-story building looked a lot like Vin's.

Taking a chance that his motorcycle wouldn't be stolen the second he turned his back, JD slid off his 'cycle and walked towards the dark blue door less, metal top-Jeep Wrangler. He blinked. That was Vin's jeep. Which meant …

JD felt his mouth drop. "This is Purgatorio!" he whispered to himself, astonished at finding himself in Vin's neighborhood. He hadn't deliberately driven to a low-income section of Denver. Well, maybe he had, JD considered as he thought about the path he'd taken. Subconsciously he'd driven by the homes of the rest of the team, excluding Chris.

JD took a look around, shrugged, and, helmat off, hanging in his left hand, JD walked down the street, towards the jeep, which was near Vin's pad. The car with a broken muffler had left a while ago, and the only thing holding the young man here was his curiosity. It might be interesting to figure out what Vin did on his free Saturdays.

Young kids having fun sounded similar in many languages. While JD might not have recognized the words, he did grasp there was a sporting event of some kind going on around the corner. Keeping to a moderate walk, the hacker wandered around the corner and felt his jaw drop. Again.

Vin Tanner, sharpshooter and tracker, was doing a handstand in the middle of the street! There was a small crowd of pre-teens laughing as the unbalanced (Vin? Uncoordinated? unthinkable). upside down man fell forward and somehow landed on his feet after rolling into a ball. Vin stood up from his crouch, laughed with the kids, and nodded his head towards the jeep.

Shrieking with delight, the gathering of youngsters ran towards the jeep. One of the taller boys clamored over the passenger seat and pulled out small bottles. The boy handed out the bottles, and each kid that received one stepped back and proceeded to guzzle the sweet drink down.

Vin, not surprisingly, managed to get within two feet of JD without being noticed. "Hey, kid."

JD barely managed from jumping. At least he didn't have a hand landing on his shoulder. "Hey yourself."

Vin examined shorter man. "What brings you here?"

JD shrugged. "Just clearing my mind." A comfortable silence settled around the two as the kids removed the last of the soda bottles and took off in all directions. "What's that about?"

Vin leaned against the building. "Javier's twelfth birthday last week. They waited until I could join them to throw a party. 'Sides, everyone knows I hand out soda afterwards." He grinned. "I think the moms just want a little time to themselves every now and then, letting me watch everyone."

JD snorted. "Need another player for street hockey?"

"A player, no. A coach. Maybe. Not many these kids speak English well, and most won't respect strangers. Not even those who claim to be my friend."

"Well, I'm not claiming it. You're saying it."

Vin laughed. "Not translating for 'ya. You want to teach them, gotta learn their lingo." Vin frowned. "And find a better spot to put your bike. I don't tolerate stealing, but there are gangs nearby that who will remove everything not tied down."

JD put his helmet back on his head. "Got any suggestions?"

"Yeah, get something less flashy and not as nice or new looking. Marks you as an outsider."

Written 12 February 2012


	9. Resolved Challenges

_**Do I look like a producer for Magnificent 7? Don't answer that! **_

Ezra P. Standish sat stiffly at his chair. Posture, perfectly straight and no trembles in the hands or fingers to reveal his emotional status. His face, carefully blank, eliminating any tells.

Slowly carefully, the coffee cup settled on its coaster, not a ripple in the surface of the dark liquid.

A chorus of groans followed. The challenger slumped and pushed his cup aside. "How can you drink the stuff?"

Ezra rose from his chair, scrapping the back legs on the floor. The slight noise went unheard in the room as money changed hands and the nervous, anticipatory silence gave way to cheers and grunts. He slipped almost unnoticed into the kitchen.

Chris Larabee saw and followed. He wore a satisfied grin on his face. Chris leaned against the countertop where Ezra spat out a mouthful of water. "Willing to go to the next round?"

Ezra let the tightly-wound nerves relax. "No, Mr. Larabee, I will not. I am quite content to let our own Mr. Vin Tanner keep his role as champion of the unofficial coffee-drinking challenge. As you well know."

Chris chuckled. "Yeah. Kind of hard to believe there were people in the building who thought they could drink his home-brewed tar." The tension eased out of his frame. The warning signs declaring the putrid brown café canister reserved for Vin Tanner's use only could be taken down.

Earlier, remaining challenger had grimaced and shuddered in disgust after tasting the coffee, then leaned forward, eagerly awaiting his opponent's reaction to the stuff. Ezra Standish did not disappoint. Team 7 had unanimously bet on Ezra outlasting everyone. Very few in the building thought Ezra would be the last one standing.

"I did not look forward to the contest."

"You had a smug little grin as you approached the table."

"If I did, it was based on the thought that this little contest would be over."

Chris snorted. "No one else would have been able to _pretend_ that they didn't find anything wrong with the drink. Let alone fake swallowing the coffee."

"I did swallow. Could not fake that."

"Wait, you actually managed to _drink_ the stuff? Almost everyone else here has to spit it out immediately. What were you doing at the sink, anyway?"

"Rinsing out my mouth so the aftertaste would not continue to bother me. However, I fear my stomach might rebel later today."

"Don't tell that to Vin. He gulped down your cup, and looked to be planning on how to grab the abandoned cups before they were tossed."

"Do I look suicidal to you?"

_Written March 10th, 2012_


	10. Better Hands

Josiah Sanchez enjoyed the days and times he could get away from work.

It is not that he hated his team, or the government regulations, or all the paperwork the paid job insisted had to be done a certain way, but what really bugged Josiah, is the way that work had a tendency of becoming his life. Josiah learned that the hard way after receiving an honorable discharge from the military. He could have signed on for another three years, but realistically, Josiah was no longer a young man, and he did not desire the promotion and bureaucracy that came with another season in the Forces.

Adapting to a life where he was surrounded by non-military personal had been quite a shock. Oh, the change was welcome at first, but the hassles brought on by the presence of civilians who refused to follow basic courtesy and common sense irked him tremendously. His sense of duty encouraged him to help out the Police Forces as much as possible, and wherever – but being an honorary 'consultant', and the unconscious treatment of the 'Real Officers' trying to keep him out of firefights did not appeal at all to his sense of justice and fair play.

So, when the ATF agency offered him a job, he jumped at the chance. Finding family where he had expected simple acquaintances, now that had been the real blessing.

As much as he enjoyed being with his team, they weren't the only family he had. As with most things in life, change occurred. A change of pace, of location, and of duties happened fairly regularly. However, for the last several months, work in the ATF department had become routine, automatic, and tedious. Thus, when his blood-family called, asking for his help, Josiah immediately talked to Chris, asking for a week off.

Chris Larabee, feeling the same mind-numbing influences Jsoiah Sanchez had been fighting for a while now, let him go. The absence of the senior member would be felt, but it would encourage the others to mentally stretch themselves, and apply their idle hands to work in a more productive manner. The others didn't need to hear more than 'family' to understand what pulled Josiah away from them. The team all knew how much being separated from blood-relatives hurt.

His first day off, Josiah got up before the dawn's light illuminated the roads and drove out of town, heading for his sister's place. They spent the afternoon talking, catching up, and reacquainting each other. Sure, they remained in contact through phone calls, e-mails, the occasional letters and cards, but that was all impersonal. There is no real substitute for face-to-face conversations.

Towards the end of dinner, Hannah Sanchez finally got down to the reason for her impromptu call. The local church had found some leaks in the roof, and an elderly, retired, construction-home repair supervisor thought the joints and a few support beams were woefully out-dated and in bad shape. The congregation had managed to raise the money to buy the needed materials for replacement parts, but they didn't have the funds to hire a professional contractor. Josiah Sanchez's hobby outside of work included woodwork – and an Associates Degree.

For the church board, finding someone who was willing to do the work for free was a miracle and a blessing. In a few states, government regulations would require Josiah to have a currant certificate or up-to-date license before being allowed to work on a building not owned by him. Thankfully, Colorado was not one of those states, because Josiah did not intend to go into home building and repair for a living. Oh, he had debated it before the ATF offer was made, but that would have been solely to keep himself from being bored stiff.

Hannah Sanchez, the only living blood-family Josiah had, walked up to her hard working brother during one of his breaks. "Looks good."

Josiah examined the wall. "You think so?"

"I know so." She raised her hand and pointed at the two distinctly different sections. "You know our situation. Do I have to spell it out for you again? All of us are grateful that you came so quickly."  
>"Hmmm." Sanchez junior rubbed his chin with a old, sweat stained handkerchief. "I don't know, some of your friends seem pretty enthusiastic to me."<p>

Hannah snorted. "Sister Anna?"  
>Josiah glanced over. "Well, yes, she is one of them, but not the only one." He started listing on his hands, "Brothers Busche, Dunlop and Marshall, Sisters Hogan, Krueger and Weed were all helpful, and I appreciate the time they could help out." He sighed. "It's just, that I wish they'd been able to take more time off work, 'cause the shingles won't replace themselves. By the way, where is Sister Anna now?"<p>

Miss Sanchez looked around. "Manning the refreshment booth."

Josiah examined the small group of workers that were determinedly painting the foyer, halls, walls, and other flat surfaces, inside and out. "Sister Anna is one of the few talented workers who's been here up all week – almost none of the remaining volunteers who showed up today and yesterday expressed any interest in using equipment more dangerous than the paintbrushes everyone's wielding."

Hannah snorted again. "I'll pass your compliments on to her." Almost as an afterthought, she mock-whispered, "and the others too."

Josiah hid a faint smile and stepped towards the table holding refreshments. Sister Anna passed over a chilled glass of ice-cold lemonade. "Thanks, Anna. How are you holding up?"

The young lady shrugged her shoulders. "Very well, thank you." A cellular phone going off postponed further talking.

Josiah recognized the ring-tone. "It's Chris."

Hannah, who had resumed helping Anna make sandwiches for the unpaid workers, stared at her brother. The cell continued to ring. "If he's calling, it is important. Go, we'll be fine."

Josiah hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Hannah glared at her brother. "Yes, I'm sure. And as you pointed out, the congregation does have a few talented and enthusiastic workers available – what with you having done the worst and most important of everything, we'll get it done. Properly and safely, if not as quickly as you could. Now, take the call." She pretended to shoo her brother towards the tables that seemed to be piled with none essentials.

Mr. Sanchez waved towards the painters and answered the phone before the song could repeat for a third time. "Yeah, Mr. Larabee?" he asked, already gathering up his wallet and keys, before heading outside.


	11. Coffee Craze!

Vin Tanner, one of the first to arrive at the ATF building as he often did, wasted no time in jogging up the stairs and heading for the break room. Once inside, Vin casually glanced over the coffee pots and espresso machine. When that gourmet drink-maker first arrived, no one wanted to touch it. Now, it seemed like a good third of the people taking a break utilized that device at least once during the day. The coffee maker, on the other hand, never had a moment's rest. If it wasn't creating a fresh pot of coffee, it was keeping the old batch warm – and with how many caffeen addicts roamed the building, it got quite the workout.

Thankfully those who stocked the break room with the beans and other essential supplies knew when the less costly item was of superior quality, and when the cheaper alternative did not maintain the flavor standards everyone expected and needed on the long stake-outs, planning sessions, and exhaustive meetings.

Vin paused in his reprisal of the room and the equipment. His keen eyes reversed their examination and looked towards a new addition that did not fit the modern look at all. And yet, it blended in with the surroundings.

Apprehensive, Vin edged closer and gave the rest of the room a quick look. Seeing no one, hearing nothing out-of-the-ordinary, Vin reached out and touched the item. It felt solid. He picked it up. No wires and no electronic additions either. He put it back down. Somehow, somewhere, someone had found an old percolator and dropped it off. Gently picking up the lid and examine both it and the interior, Vin looked inside.

A chuckle quietly emerged from Vin's throat. The handwritten note on the single sheet of paper inside revealed that this particular coffee pot was reserved for Vin Tanner's use only. That was thoughtful – and Vin knew exactly who had gotten fed up with Vin taking the opportunity to make the coffee the way he liked best. Or, to be more accurately, the single person who successfully dropped this old-fashioned coffee maker had heard all the complaints from every team running late or behind, and most of the paper-pushers too lazy and cheep to go down the stairs and across the street to the local café' when their own mugs ran out of the precious liquid. Vin applauded the stranger, and looked forward to catching his friends off guard when they eventually realized no one had run across a 'cup of tar' or 'liquid pitch' that was Vin's preferred thick, strong black coffee.

Vin's shrug went unnoticed. He prepared his drink in the percolator, and then carefully measured out a minuscule amount of coffee grounds in the filters (after replacing the spent, soaked filters for fresh ones) for the regular coffee-pots. But only one device received water. The previously owned and used percolator.

The task done, Vin grabbed a mug of coffee and exited the break-room. He glanced at the analog clock hanging on the hallway, above the door and smiled. It was just about time for the other early arrivals to show up.

Right on time, Team leader 6 emerged from the elevator and stepped into the break room. Behind him, two men from team 8 – who had just finished a bust and were looking forward to regular office hours for a bit longer – walked behind him. Finally, one of team 7 – Josiah Sanchez – arrived, ready to begin a new day.

Josiah spied Vin leaning casually against the far wall, and instead of grabbing his mug from the cabinet, he wandered over. "What did you do?" He asked, suspicious.

Vin's second shrug had an observer this time. Vin sipped and let his mouth approximate a grin. "Oh, you didn't. Vin!"

Josiah turned and ran, nearly tripping one of the team 8 men, as both individuals arrived at the door simultaneously. "Did you sample the coffee before pouring a cup?" Vin couldn't see their reactions, but he sure could hear them. "What coffee? The pots were empty when we got here."

Vin let his laughter be heard. "Thanks Preacher." He called out. "Warn them, why don't ya? Ruin my prank." The teasing tone left no doubt these semi-harsh words were said in jest.

_16 August 2012._


	12. Hi Ho!

Chris Larabee, stepped out of his office to refresh his coffee cup. When he saw Ezra stroll in like he owned the building, Chris took one mournful look at the monitor, and sipped at his mug. Then, Chris discovered he'd already finished off his second cup of the day. He debated the worth of escaping the confines of his office, shielding him somewhat from the boisterous activities and noise that overtook his men when they were working on the monotonous duties of bureaucracy designed paperwork at the end of a successful sting operation.

Maybe this time, they would land a bootlegging operation? It has been sometime since the Magnificent 7 had been called in to help out with illegal alcohol production (selling alcohol without a license, the government did not like – especially homemade liquor that could contain deadly toxins such as arsenic or harmful ingredients that led to rotgut). Taking down an illicit drug grower and producer would be a welcome change as well. Even if no one else could see it, Chris noticed the toil repetitive and ceaseless undercover operations had taken on Ezra Standish. A month long break from sting operations involving illegal Firearm cartels and Black Market ammunitions would go a long way.

Stepping into the breakroom, Chris refreshed his cup. He also scanned the vending machines – and the selection of fresh fruit. Someone had taken the time to bring in apples. Weighing the options in his head, Chris grabbed an apple instead of dumping change in the machine for a sandwich.

Apple carefully concealed in his hand, Chris walked back into chaos.

Ezra sputtering? Not so uncommon. The music piping in from the overhead speakers, that was different – especially since the musical notes was limited to this room alone. JD kept turning in his seat, trying to see everyone's face at once.

From his slightly hidden vantage point, Chris surveyed the room, trying to figure out what was wrong – and why the tune was so damn familiar. Okay, check out faces - Buck was grinning. Nothing odd there. Nathan hiding a grin behind his face. Okay, that was different. Josiah trying to calm Ezra down while Vin sported a face full of confusion? Okay, the confusion part was odd,, but what was wrong?

Finally, his arrival was noticed. "Hey, Chris," called out Buck, spying the man first. "You might want to check out your monitor."

"Why?"

"Just do it Pard."

Signing, Chris stepped inside, walked around his desk, placed the apple down (hidden from the doorway), and set his cup on its coaster. Then he glanced at the monitor. "_GRUMPY!"_ His bellows almost rattled the bullet-proof glass. Chris rushed back to the other. "Okay! Who's bright idea was this?" And then, his eyes spied the monitors of the others. Six computer screens were no longer showing the electronic paperwork the men had been working on. They now danced with various words on a black background. He spied "_DOPEY"_ and "_SLEEPY_" and "_BASHFUL_", along with "_DOC", "HAPPY_" and finally, "_SNEEZY"_.

His mind then put words to the lyrical melody that had begun to repeat itself. "…." Chris muttered to himself. Giving in, Chris sank down, leaning against the wall, and allowed the memories to play in his mind. "Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's home from work we go. (_whistling)_ Hi Ho, Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's home from work we go." He could almost feel his son in his lap once again, as they watched Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs again, singing with the gem miners as they trudged home, single file, carrying pick axes and lanterns.

(Writen 29 August 2012)

A/N: The ending surprised me. Oh well, maybe I can give Ezra and JD a bigger part in the next snapshot.

Please, review. I appreciate you readers dropping me a note, even if I don't respond right away.


	13. A new home

**Magnificent 7 is not mine.**

Orin Travis nodded approvingly. "You did a great job on this poster, Billy."

Billy Travis smiled. "Can I help you put these up at your work, grandpa?"

Orin laughed. "Yes, you can."

*The next morning, at the Denver ATF agency*

"Ah, Sherry, thank you. Do we have any tape or pins I can borrow?"

The semi-suspicious secretary frowned until she saw the brown head of hair and the face underneath the mop, looking up at the District Judge, a stack of papers in his small hand. She smiled. "Indeed we do, under lock and key, so less scrupulous members can not utilize them for nefarious purposes. May I ask what bulletin is going up?"

The boy, clearly, Judge Travis's grandson, carefully removed the top paper from the stack and handed it to her. "Oh," She said, looking at the pictures. "I see." Sherry nodded and briskly walked back to her desk, unlocking the secure drawer and taking out the pins. "Here you go sir."

"Thanks, Sherry, we'll give this back to you."

Vin Tanner, was in the break room, sipping his coffee as Billy Travis and The Judge came in. "Good morning, sir." He noticed the two pieces of paper left in the boy's hand. Billy saw the man (and recognizing him from grandpa's stories), and ran up to him. "Need any kittens? I gotta find a home for them, 'fore mom takes them to the SPCA."

Vin held out his hand and calmly studied the image of the kitten on the page. "These look a bit young to be taken from their mama."

Billy giggled. Judge Traves spoke up. "The pictures were taken last month in an effort to let me keep them at my home. They are all old enough to be given new homes." He was thoughtful. "All but two have been spoken for."

Vin snorted. Returned the paper. "I need mousers. Sides, the local cats don't like it when the teens bring in other animals."

Billy took the single sheet back. "It's alright." He tried hiding the dejection, but failed miserably.

"You might try Chris or Buck when they come in. Look, here's Chris now."

Chris Larabee glared. "What about Chris?"  
>Billy's giggles caught Chris' attention. "Hello, sir." Chris knelt down to be closer to Billy's level. "Hey, short-stuff, whatcha doing here? Does your grandpa know you're around?"<p>

Billy laughed. "Silly, Grandpa is over there!"

Chris pretended to be surprised. "Why, so he is. What did you want to show me?"

Suddenly shy, Billy gave the paper to Chris. "Can you take him?"

While Chris was pondering a polite way of declining an offer of a pet, Buck and JD came sauntering in. "Him? Him who?" Asked the ladies man. JD looked at the picture over Chris' shoulder and laughed. "Thanks for the offer, Billy, but Buck can't stand the competition."

Billy was confused, as Vin and Chris chuckled. Judge Travis coughed into his sleeve. Buck, Buck Wilmington grew offended. "There is no way any ol' Tom cat is competition for me. I can handle it, like a man. You, however would somehow misplace the cat in your room, and accidentally step on the poor blighter's tail."

"Maybe, but since we share the same Duplex, you'd step on his poor tail just as often or more often then me!"

Drawn by the commotion, Josiah Sanchez and Nathan Jackson stepped into the semi-crowded break room. "Those are some pretty pictures, Billy. Did you take them?" asked the bear-like man.

Billy nodded, then looked back at JD Dunne and Buck as the two men wrestled on the floor, arguing loudly. "Do they do that a lot?" He asked in a small whisper.

Nathan glanced up from the picture he was studying. "All the time." He had knelt on one knee. "I hope you haven't had these kittens declawed."  
>"Why?" asked an awestruck Billy.<p>

"Because declawing a cat renders them defenseless. Removing the claws is very cruel to them."

Josiah ignored the two men clowning around on the floor. "I wish I could help you out, Billy, but I can't keep houseplants alive. What about you, Nate?"

Nathan frowned. Placed the image on the countertop. "Rains allergic to cat hair. And we can't stand caging pets up either."

Vin leaned against the countertop. "The smell gets to ya?"

"Not the smell, the cage." He didn't have to look at Chris or the others to know they understood. Billy, didn't get the reference, but he was too busy watching the mock-fight between Buck and JD as the two adult agents rolled on the floor, bumping into the walls and chairs.

A surprisingly early Ezra Standish chose then to walk in. He stepped over the prone figures as if it happened every day. "Good morning, gentlemen. May I inquire as to why we have temporarily located ourselves in this lovely break room, and what has set the brothers off this time?"

Judge Travis shook his head. "JD seems to think Buck would be jealous of a male cat taking up residence in their home."

"Ah. Yes, Mr. Wilmington would object to the nightly hollering and yowling of a male feline seeking pleasurable company. Their eternal search for female companionship, and vocal territorial disputes can cause even the most sane man to throw a shoe at them, to say nothing of the display of ownership all cats are inclined to do."

Billy's "Huh?" was echoed by the others. Buck and JD had finished this round, and appear to have forgotten that they had an audience besides their team. JD rolled his eyes. "Male cats fight and are loud. They don't care if its bedtime. They also scratch furniture and don't use the litter box all the time.

"Can you?" Billy, hesitated, not wanting to get his hopes dashed.

Ezra sighed. "I am afraid my abode is not a habitable place for pets. Also, I am not inclined towards creating master-owner bonds, when there is a good possibility that my neighbors would be taking care of the animal more often than I." He gazed at his team, noticing the winces and cringes from most of them. "I presume all of us have similar excuses?"

Judge Travis laughed. "Indeed. It has been a diverting morning, watching as grown men scramble to say 'no' without outright saying 'I can't stand cats'.

Chris shocked everyone but Ezra when he suddenly announced, "I can take both. I know I've got mice and rats eating the grain for the horses, and letting the cats explore the barn will work better than buying more da – dang rat traps." Chris hoped the Judge ignored the slight-slip of the tongue. While Billy had probably heard worse at school, no need to encourage the kid to use that language. Especially not where Orin Travis could hear. "That is, if it's alright with you sir."

"Of course, Mr. Larabee. Mary and I are most grateful to you for taking the last two kittens off our hands."

Billy laughed and hugged Chris, happy to know that all the baby cats, now had new homes.

**Sunday 30 September 2012**


	14. Hospital Talk

**Magnificent 7 is not mine. I just like playing in the sandbox from time to time.**

It was after visiting hours in the local hospital. JD couldn't sleep, and was bored out of his mind; the television had nothing interesting playing, and the magazines and other stuff had been confiscated, shortly after Chris and the others had been kicked out by the nurses, insisting that the wounded patient needed peace and quite, so he could sleep.

A soft nock came from the open doorway. John Daniel Dunne looked towards the door, grateful for the interruption. "Ezra!" JD motioned the slender, green-eyed man in and towards the empty foldaway chair.

"Mister Dunne!" Ezra allowed JD to see hints of a smile on his face. He needn't have bothered, as the entire team recognized the relief in the ex-FBI agent's eyes when the doctors and nurses finally allowed the youngest member visitors. "Since you have proven incapable of occupying yourself with plans to successfully escape meddlesome confinement, I found it necessary to bring something that might prove of valuable during your incarceration."

JD Dunne started to laugh, cut it out when his ribs protested. "Don't make me laugh Ezra. Just cause you and Vin can't stand being patients in hospitals, does not mean the rest of us are any more eager to give Nathan or Chris to mother us to death."

Ezra held out the hand wrapped present. " Why do you think I endeavor to never admit when I might be feeling 'under the weather'? Mister Jackson's obvious concern for our health and wellbeing is a mite overbearing, but it is Mister Larabee's subsequent orders and enforcement for injured parties to 'take it easy' until the injury is healed are, at times, unwelcome."

JD rolled his eyes as he tore the wrapper. "Yeah, well if you and certain others would not wait until you are at death's door before admitting help is appreciated, then Chris would not go overboard when you and certain others cannot take care of themselves as we are accustomed."

"You do realize that your statement refers to everyone on the team – including yourself."

"It's just a bullet graze! I didn't need to visit the emergency room to get it fixed up. Nathan takes care of skin-deep injuries all the time."

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "And yet, your ribs are tender, indicating a deeper injury, as evidenced by your request for no comedy entertainment."

JD blinked. Looked at the book in his hand. Stared at it to ensure he was seeing the object correctly. "A dictionary? Paperback even?" His tone wasn't confronting or angry, mostly curious.

Ezra sank into the foldaway chair. "It seemed most appropriate to get one that can be easily replaced, and not one that will sit in the corner of the desk, gathering dust. This way," Ezra Standish pointed to the handheld/travel sized book, "it won't set anyone back to replace it, or get their own copy."

JD snickered, looked up. "I can't believe you bought a paperback. I thought the only books you bought – even to just give away – had to be hardcover. Preferably leather-bound or similar, one that doesn't show wear-and-tear if someone looks at it wrong."

"Why does everyone believe that my showroom library contains all the books I own, and that I would never lower myself to touch a literary writing produced for the masses?" Ezra sighed. "Truly, I do enjoy reading modern novels, mystery, western, and have indulged in a few Science-Fiction, Fantasy, and other genres offered to the discerning reader."

"Tell me the truth, Ezra. Have you ever touched a 'Idiots Guide to' or other self-help books?"

Standish exaggerated the shudder. "Those pedestrian-style writings? I should say not!"

"Not even if they were leather-bound?"  
>Ezra's face glowered at the though. "Not willingly."<p>

"You think Chris would appreciate receiving a set of the 'Dummies Help to' series?

"Mister Dunne! The 'Idiots Guide' and "Dummies Help' do not come in a set! They are also produced in paperback form only. No one would be willing to buy them or use than as an encyclopedia reference. They are written as self-help on one particular aspect of life, technology, or similar."

"Yeah, but can you imagine Chris's face when he receives a set dedicated to 'self Diagnosis of injuries'? Or Nathan's on 'how to treat minor wounds'?"

Both men fell silent. "The idea has merit" Ezra finally admitted. "You have a devious mind, young Dunne. Why do you not express yourself at work more often?"

JD smirked. "I do. Thanks to you and Vin, I've learned the consequences of being caught. Besides, why unleash it against family? Target others who won't prank back."

Ezra laughed, with his fully belly, and not the quiet chuckles he usually indulged in. "What's the point in bullying the other teams? By confining our idle hands to M7, Chris can reign us in before the practical jokes become harassment while Josiah and Buck are willing to strike back if they believe the harmless attack did emotional damage – anyone outside our small group would have to contend with either Chris Larabee to get retribution, or bring The Judge's attention on the frivolous activities he can pretend to ignore at the moment."

One of the nurses who'd had lots of experience when only a few of the ATF Magnificent 7 team was injured and not yet released to their own homes for further recuperation, opened the door and poked her head in. "I hate to interrupt the party, but other patients are trying to sleep. If you two gentlemen cannot contain your mirth, I will be required to escort you, Standish, out."

"Forgive the intrusion, my dear lovely lady" began Ezra, trying to catch her name.

"Rose" supplied the nurse, bemused at the quick change in conversation. She spotted the brand-new dictionary. "I wonder if learning words and grasping the meanings of common terms, could be so funny." She spoke politely, but firmly.

JD chuckled. Rose and long-term staff and assistants knew how to handle Chris Larabee's team on a one-by-one basis. And hearing them imitating the speech patterns of the after-hour visitors was always a hoot. "Imagining Chris's and Nate's faces when they receive a 'Dummies Guide' to '_Injuries and Common Maladies: How to Inflict Them Without Permanent Injuries and The Best Way To Treat Them Until A Professional Can Arrive_'.

Rose's eyes sparkled. "If you can get Chris or Nathan to sign a copy, the Hospital Staff would love it – provided it explains some of the more interesting wounds you gentlemen have been brought in for."

Ezra laughed again. "Rose, you are a rare corundum. Thank you!" He left after bidding JD and Rose goodnight.

_Written 28 February 2013_


	15. Coffee Woes and prank

**Coffee Woes **

John Daniel Dunne, called JD by everyone (or Mister Dunne by Ezra on occasion), left the 'M7' office room. He saw nothing unusual as he exited, but on his return, there was a sampler sized bag of 'Kopi luwak' on the floor next to the door.

More bemused than worried, JD paused, and examined the sealed, packaged container from every available angle before reaching down to pick it up. Before his hands could touch the bag, the door opened.

"JD, stop wasting time pacing the hallway. We've got a briefing to finish."

"Buck, what do you make of this?"  
>Buck Wilmington glanced down and jumped back. "Look Out!" he cried.<p>

The rest of the team stopped whatever they were doing. Chris Larabee had either been skimming the paperwork in front of him or doodling on the sheets. Ezra Standish and Vin Tanner, stopped mentally turning the loose papers into airplanes and spit-wads. Nathan Jackson pushed back in his chair, moaning the loss of a good cup of coffee. The pile of bureaucratic files lay in a sodden mess, absorbing the brown spilt fluids. Josiah Sanchez put down the memos he'd been reading.

Buck got up from behind the chair he'd dived behind. His grin faltered under the combined stares of his team. "What?"

"Buck, today is the wrong day to perpetuate a joke." Chris words were harsh; those that knew the team leader saw the grin threatening to break free from the severe frown aimed at a life-long friend.

Buck rolled his eyes. "Ah, come on Chris! Ez and Vin are always planning jokes and pranks, you never step in on their fun!"

"Ezra and Vin know when not to actually go through with their juvenile pranks."

From the doorway JD heft the bag labeled Kopi luwak'. "Um, excuse me, but what's this?"

Ezra chocked. "Good Lord, who left that behind?"

Vin glared at the bag as if personally assaulted him. "JD, put it down and back away."

JD did nothing of the sort. "Hey, I didn't buy it!" He protested. "just wanted to test it. Looks like regular coffee beans to me."

Josiah laughed. "Kid, coffee beans that have gone through the luwak process are among the most expensive to buy in the entire world."

Nathan held out his hand palm up.

The bag was reluctantly deposited in the waiting grasp. "As for practical jokes, this is about the stupidest and dumb I've ever seen and heard. Giving away premier coffee? That's absurd."

Vin snorted. "I ain't touching that stuff. Too vile."

Five men blinked. They'd all seen their Vin Tanner eat foods none of the rest considered editable. Foods like candied locust, chocolate covered spiders, cricket chips, Twinkies, deep-fried snake meat, and the like. Chris was the first to find his voice. "Kopi luwak coffee is vile?"

The one man who did not stare at Vin like he'd said anything strange shuddered. "Everyone who tastes the stuff agrees that it is a bad tasting, less-acidic, thinner cup of brew than the regular stuff. And its origins." He shuddered again. This time, his team was able to discern the cause of the full-length body shakes - disgust.

Buck looked at the unopened bag. "I don't get it."

Ezra opened his eyes. "You don't want me to expound on it."

Vin took over for the poor con-man. "The beans have been partially digested."

If JD had still been holding the bag of whole coffee beans, it would have clattered to the tabletop. "Disgusting!"

Nathan, the one currently holding the outrageously priced, single-serve packet merely shook his head. "Shall we return this lost prize back to its buyer and inform him of the hazards of leaving coffee unattended in the vicinity of well-known coffee addicts?" His grin was infectious.

"Why, I do believe I almost mistook you for our highly esteemed friend, Mister Standish." Josiah laughed.

Chris glared at them both. "Just stop imitating Ezra, you two, and make sure the perpetrator knows not to give us any Civit Coffee again."

Ah, Mister Larabee, using the slang and speech inherit in normal conversations would void the bet we placed with Mister Standish." Said Josiah.

Nathan's reply was not far behind. "Has it ever occurred to you that outside our little family, the other ATF agents do not know the natural cadences and octaves of Mister Standish, and are rightfully confused when they talk to one of us by phone?"

Chris closed his eyes. "You are pranking the entire building and staff."

"But of course, Mister Larabee. It is expected. Especially on today's date, the first of April"

"Buck, why didn't you join in on this home-operation?"  
>Buck shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't think of it soon enough. Maybe next year."<p>

Seven men traded smiles and laughs, before getting down to business. The civit coffee lay untouched in the center of the table, ignored by all the men.

_written 1st April 2013_


	16. Luncheon

**Long delayed meetings with friends**

JD Dunne slid into the two-person booth, shaking his head slightly when Inez proceeded to slide a laminated menu his way. "I know what I want to order."

Inez smiled. "The usual then, Mister Dunne?"

"Yes please – extra crispy fries."

Inez left to place his order.

J.D. leaned back into the solid padded backing, closed his eyes for just one moment.

The next moment slender hands touched his shoulder.

J.D. opened his eyes, startled.

Cassey Wells frowned. "When was the last time you got a decent night's sleep?"

"Sorry, Cass," J.D. reluctantly pealed his clothing back form the clean vinyl material of the seats. "First day off in what feels like forever, and I fail to notice you walk in."

"You're forgiven." Cassey's frown disappeared. "But Buck is not. He's got a lot to answer for."

J.D. wiped the last trace of sleepiness from his eyes.

Silently, Inez put plates down in front of the regulars: a hamburger with all the trimmings, and a bowl of chili for J.D. and a hearty chicken apple salad, Italian dressing to the side, for Cassey, and a large platter of fresh-cut French fries. "You two ever want to try our fried zucchini, curly fries, waffle fries, onion rings or any other appetizer, please let me know."

"Thank you, Inez." Cassey returned her attention to J.D. "I'm serious, partner. Buck has got to let you get to sleep at a decent hour instead of making you watch the Detroit Lions games." Cassey shook a French fry to emphasize her point, before popping it in her mouth.

J.D. smiled, reach for the platter of fries. "Wrong season for the Lions to be playing."

"Wrong sport?"

"Wrong sport – good effort. And it's not the games, its work." J.D. coughed.

Cassey was immediately at J.D.'s side the back of one hand resting against his forehead, the other helpfully pounding his back.

"Not sick" JD blurted between hacking coughs. "Can't breath." He reached for the ice-cold water and drank deeply, trying to ease the soreness on his esophagus and tracheae. "Swallowed wrong,"

"You're not coming down with the same sickness that's got so many admitted to the hospitals?" Cassey did not slid back into her seat just yet, needing to know J.D. was alright.

"I'm fine, Cass – Nate's constantly checking our temperatures, asking if we've stocked up on our vitamins and otherwise making a nuisance of himself." J.D. chuckled, reached for his burger. If he was with just the guys, he'd chow down on the sloppy bun, but since Cassey was his sole companion, he nibbled at it.

Not nibbled-nibble, just didn't stuff more than a tenth of the burner in his mouth at once – if he ever nibbled-nibbled (picked) at his food, everyone would know his stomach was acting up.

Long moments of chewing, along with hearty sips of Mountain Dew to moisten the food, then eventually swallowing so he could speak again without showing a mouthful of food, or scattering particles of his burger all over the table. "Nate got so bad, Chris ordered him to check the other teams, make sure none of the agents on our floor were working when they should have asked for a sick day."

"Did Nate find anyone?"

"Not yet." J.D. grinned. "But not for a lack of trying. I hear he's got Judge Travis on his check-up list."

Cassie's eyes opened wide. "The Judge Orrin Travis?"

"Yep."

"Doesn't he have his own personal physician?"

"He does, but Nate doesn't like trusting medical records – besides, the physical makes no mention of one's susceptibility to colds, flues or any other air-born illness that makes its rounds this time of year."

"True," Cassey looked down at her mostly-finished salad in surprise. "How are you holding up?"

J.D. shrugged, before he bit again into his mostly gone hamburger. Said "Wishing I didn't have to keep delaying our outings. I like talking to you Cass, but the phone isn't the same."

Cassey giggled. "And email isn't enough, is it?"

J.D. shook his head.

"What about snail-mail?"

A panicked look flashed through J.D's face and he swallowed perhaps sooner than he should have. He coughed again, dislodging the biggest lumps. "I haven't forgotten your birthday?"

Cassey laughed. "J.D, I know you programmed your computer to remind yourself a week in advance. No, no special occasion. It's just that … I like receiving actual letters from time to time. Something that isn't a bill or junk. Know what I mean?"

J.D. didn't have to think hard or long. He knew exactly what Cassey was talking about. "Random notes through the postal system? Like 'just thinking of you'?"

"As long as it lacks the stalking vibe, sure." Cassie agreed.

_(written June 2013)_


	17. Steak dinner

**Disclaimer: Magnificent 7 is NOT mine. ATF verse does not belong to Quacked Lurker.**

"Vegetarian's an old Indian word for 'lousy hunter'." Vin adamantly declared.

Nathan shook his head. "Vin, vegetables won't kill you."

"Yes they will!" Vin hissed. "Ya got sickness outbreaks from contaminated fields."

Nathan bit his tongue when the rest of the team started snickering. "One salad won't hurt, now will it."

Ezra coughed. "I must concur with Mister Tanner. The news media has been rift with stories about hospitalizations due to raw, unwashed foods containing harmful bacteria that the modern lifestyle has equipped us unable to expel without hospitalization."

"A little bit of fresh vegetables is good for the body." Nathan insisted, not getting any help from the others."

"Heck, Nate," Buck interrupted. "I don't need to eat kale and cauliflower to feel healthy."

Josiah, Chris, and JD looked at each other. "Steak sounds good." Chris stood up. "Anybody else hungry?" He grabbed his jacket.

Nathan groaned. "You don't need to have salad to eat healthy." He stood up and followed the others out. "Adding just a small amount of vegetables to the meal will help – provided you eat them!"

Josiah slapped the medic on the back. "Animals were given to man to be eaten as food." He sidestepped the retaliating slug.

The seven men ambled down the hallway, waiting for the elevator doors to open. "Seven days without beef makes one weak," JD said. "Don't ask Buck or me to add broccoli to our meals, last batch had mold growing on it." He shuddered.

Ezra made sure he was not standing next to JD or Buck as they stepped inside the elevator. "Perchance if one would clean their abode and remove spoiled items before they become noxious, the microscopic decaying organisms would not grow to sufficient colony sizes to be noticed by one's eye."

JD rolled his eyes, while Buck blinked curiously. "He means, 'clean out your fridge monthly'."

"Weekly would be better." Ezra nodded. "Any leftovers should be refrigerated immediately and eaten within two days. Open cans, partially consumed pre-made meals should be tossed after a week."

Nathan sighed. "I'm hungry for a salad." Facing the wall, he could image their faces. "Nice crisp lettuce, freshly sliced cucumbers, chopped red union," Nathan raised his voice as others started protesting. "Lightly toasted croutons, diced apples, baby carrots, cherry tomatoes, handful of honey roasted sunflower seeds, sliced celery, hardboiled egg, dressing on the side."

"Chris, make him stop! I don't want to think about vegetables."

"Medic's got a point. Hardboiled egg as a side does sound good."

"Head of lettuce?" Josiah asked astonished. "I imagine a bed of spinach or cabbage would be better."

"Naw, Josiah, cabbage is good only in coleslaw."

"Then you've never tried 'Pigs-in-a-blanket." Nathan smacked his lips. "Now that's good."

"Nate," Chris sighed. "If we order a bowl of beans or something instead of the usual trimmings we get, will you let us enjoy our steaks in peace?"

Nathan didn't bother hiding his grin. "Of course – provided you eat the side-dish instead of leaving it on the plate." He was the first one out of the elevator cage. "The Saloon?"

"Actually, have you heard of the restaurant 'Cask and Cleavers'? It is supposed to be one of the better up-and-coming steakhouses."

After pulling into the parking lot, there was good-natured teasing as they followed Josiah into the newly renovated restaurant. The seven men tromped to their seats, gave a courtesy glance at the menus. "We already know what we want" Buck told the server.

Seven waters, two whiskeys, three beers, two wines, a shot of vodka, and one soda were followed by six steaks followed by a variety of sides: two had a side of green beans, one chose baked beans, a forth asked for corn, Chris went for the rice pilaf. The last, "Mac and Cheese?" Vin shrugged.

Nathan surprised them all. "I'll have a steak, mashed potatoes, and coleslaw."

"I thought you wanted a salad."

"I did. But I don't want an oversized, overpriced side-salad made from a head of lettuce. Those I can have anytime." Nathan peered at Ezra. "What's your excuse for eating meat?"

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "I need a reason to consume protein?"

"Everyone else has a reason to avoid foods grown and harvested directly from the garden."

"Ah, yes. The always illuminating "The West wasn't won on Salad" would be Buck's ongoing complaint. Who claimed 'Beef: it's what's for dinner?"

No hands went up. Ezra sighed. "Eating animal protein is a sign of affluence in developing countries, while here meat-animals are raised in sufficient abundance to be exported. It seems a shame to let that a rich source of food be left for waste."

It was Ezra's turn to be elbowed and ribbed by his companions. He took the teasing in the manner it was offered.

_(written 2nd Feb 2014)_


End file.
